


Unexpected Trouble

by DietBiohazard



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Hurt!Bilbo, Kidnapping, M/M, Not Quite Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:23:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DietBiohazard/pseuds/DietBiohazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin was right in saying that they weren't the only ones that saw the signs of Erebor being ready to be reclaimed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Trouble

Usually Bilbo would begin this story by telling you something obligatory about Hobbits -- maybe mention that they liked to warm their feet by the fire in the early mornings of winter, or that they would be inclined to bake on said days when the thick snow would keep them in. That was often how Bilbo began stories, and he would probably follow it by saying something or other about how Hobbits liked solitude -- a ‘no adventure’ sort of bunch. The story would slowly unravel and a plot would come in at some point, followed by a moral or a clever punch-line. 

But right now, Bilbo cared little for stories. 

Because no one would ever hear of this incident, he thought to himself as he felt his cheek being pinched, a squawk raising up in his throat. 

“Ma’am!” He tried to be cordial, but courtesy was slowly being thrown out the window as the woman continued to pinch at his cheeks, cooing as a grandmother would a child, “Ma’am, please, I cannot-!” 

“You are just too precious! Cute as a button!” She nearly squealed again, making him wonder if it was her eyesight or sanity that was failing her. No one had called him ‘cute’ in nearly thirty-five years, and he wasn’t too pleased to have the adjective used to describe him once more. 

He could hear the stifled laughter of his group behind him, making his cheeks and ears flame once more in embarrassment. They must have found this highly amusing, seeing as they had not moved an inch to help him get away from this crazed townsperson. 

The woman had now migrated from pinching his cheeks to fiddling with his ears, cooing over their size and point, ruffling about his hair. This was just getting ridiculous, but he had enough tact to hold himself back from violently ripping from her hold, in fear that he’d hurt her. 

“Yes, Master Bilbo.” He heard the familiar laughter near his right ear, making his eyes narrow in irritation, “I must say, you look particularly delightful today.” 

A similar voice sidled up to his left, “Master Bilbo, you are quite the treasure.” 

The two brothers of Durin found this event particularly amusing, as they took it upon themselves to start pinching his cheeks and fluffing his hair, though he was already receiving enough unwanted attention from the woman. 

Jumping nearly out of his skin when the woman forcefully prodded at his stomach, Bilbo laughed nervously, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I must-!”

“Look at your pudgy little stomach!” She cooed, “My, do your parents feed you too much, youngling?”

The howling laughter from Kili and Fili were enough to make Bilbo gently reach up and take the woman’s hands in his own, lowering them and offering her a small smile, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I must be going.” 

“Dear me, youngling, do make sure you don't eat too much!” 

Bilbo barely had the self control to simply turn away from the woman, stalking further into the crowd of people that called themselves Lake-town. It wasn’t often he was mistaken for a child, seeing as he had left the Shire so few times in his life, no one had the chance. Now, as they wandered through Lake-town, it was beginning to seem that it was a trend. 

“Dear Bilbo, you are quite the attraction tonight.” Fili mused happily as he slung his arm around the Hobbit’s shoulder. 

Kili’s arm followed closely, encasing Bilbo in between them, their hands tight on his shoulders to keep him from escaping, “Bilbo, you are simply too adorable tonight! The whole town is talking!”

“You all have beards, so it is impossible to mistake you for younglings.” Bilbo grumbled, but felt a bit better with the boys on either side, seeing as no one could possibly reach him to prod at him again. 

With that, they grew silent. He wasn’t going to complain much about the gentle joking at his expense, seeing as the company had been particularly morose till then. The impending trek to the Lonely Mountain weighed heavily on their minds, as their departure was scheduled for early tomorrow. None of them knew what would be greeting them when they reached the mountain, but their thoughts were deep, morose. 

“I hear half the town is worried for our small Hobbit.” The voice barreled over him, coming from the least likely of people, “Master Bilbo, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Thorin was the last person Bilbo expected to join in on the joking, but instead of annoyance, Bilbo couldn’t have been happier. He got to see that smile, that tilt of the head, those stunning blue eyes light in such mirth. Bilbo unknowingly allowed a large smile to stretch his face, his eyes already meeting with Thorin’s, “You know me, Thorin. Always causing one ruckus or another.” 

The smile of the king’s grew, taking a place next to the small Hobbit. Bilbo was only slightly embarrassed to admit that he’d been so enraptured by the king, that he had failed to notice the two princes slink away. He was sure to receive a prod or two about his star-struck gaze toward their uncle. 

“I wonder if half these people have ever even _heard_ of a Hobbit.” Bilbo stated morosely, noting that yet another townsperson stopped to inspect him, surely wondering something along the lines of why a child was out at this time of night, “Do I really resemble a child so much?” 

“Only in stature.” Thorin rumbled with an edge of laugher, his hand finding Bilbo’s shoulder in a warm hold, “You have a youthful face, but nothing like a youngling’s.”

“It must be the dark.” Bilbo edged closer to the king, feeling the warmth radiate from him. 

Thorin, on the other hand, found that he was unable to get the smile off his face. He distantly remembered Bilbo back when they had just left Bag-End, and he would daresay that Hobbit back then would take this joking so lightly. Bilbo had changed greatly, but with that change, his smile grew more true. He was laughing along with them more, joining in on their jokes and merriment. 

It warmed him greatly to see the companionship his group of dwarves had created, drawing Bilbo in and naming him one of their own. They all cared for him deeply, he was truly one of their company. Thorin had been unsure of the halfling himself, in the beginning, but now he found all he wanted to do was unravel more layers of this small creature. Solve the puzzle of their burglar. 

Feeling Bilbo shiver softly under his hand, Thorin tightened his grip and pulled the halfling closer. Small hands came to grip at his jacket, Bilbo shifting closer and huddling in, though far enough so they could still walk comfortably. 

“I think we best head back to the inn.” Thorin glanced ahead, seeing the rest of the group peeking in the closing food stands, jeering with one another and creating quite a ruckus. Their inn was close, so he didn’t bother to yell for them to quiet down, especially not with the Hobbit so comfortable at his side. 

Bilbo nodded, shivering more, but this time in trepidation. Going back to the inn meant going to bed, and going to bed meant waking in the morning, and waking in the morning meant they’d be heading toward the mountain. As their burglar, he knew that he would have to enter the mountain, most likely by himself. 

“Do not worry yourself, Bilbo.” Thorin’s eyes were suddenly on him, his brows drawing together slightly to show his concern, “I will not allow any harm to come to you. Do not fret over what comes tomorrow.” 

They walked slow, caught in the bustle of last-minute shoppers wanting to grab something before the stores closed. It was after dark, a chill seeping into the air, and though they were lighting lamps, the stores slowly started to pull in their wares. It was astonishing how much commotion was going on after dark, but in the Shire, no one stepped foot outdoors after seven at night, spare for a party. 

“Uncle!” Kili was waving his arms about, standing next to a stand and nearly jumping up and down just like a child that found a new toy, “Uncle! Come look!” 

An affectionate huff escaped from Thorin’s chest as he shook his head, letting his hand drop from around Bilbo’s shoulders. The cold immediately set in where his hand and been, and he slowly stepped away. 

“Don’t get caught by another mothering hen.” Thorin murmured next to his ear with a slight breath of amusement, before pulling away and walking to see what had his nephews so interested. 

He watched Thorin go with a tilt of his head and the beginnings of a smile on his face. This was what enthralled Bilbo so much about the dwarf, the dedication and pride he held within his family. He was rough and stern with his nephews, but in the same breath he could omit protection and love. The Durin boys were truly loved by their uncle, and it made Bilbo’s heart swell at the thought. Not only the boys, and while they were at the forefront of Thorin’s mind, Thorin also cared deeply for every member of their crew. 

Bilbo wondered if he could ever be granted with the same affection. He knew that he’d become part of the group, one of the pack, but would he ever be held in such esteem? Everyone in the group had someone they protected with all their passion. Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur were always at each other’s defense, not afraid to pester and joke, but the commitment and family was deep. Dori, Nori, and Ori were much the same, the two elder brothers fiercely protective of the youngest, gentle dwarf. Gloin and Oin had one another, and the same could be said for Balin and Dwalin. 

The most heart-warming was the companionship between Thorin, Kili, and Fili. They had each other at the worst of times, always watching the other’s backs, showing support and pride in their family. 

But who was Bilbo to go to? 

He was part of their company, part of the group, truly their friend-in-arms, but he’d never felt more alone. The mix of emotions in his chest was almost gut-wrenching, the deep companionship he felt with the others, yet the deep jealousy at their love. 

He’d never had anyone like that before. His father and mother were dead, and while he would love to say he had a good relationship with Primula and Drogo, he knew that wasn’t true. Don’t even get him started on the Sackville-Bagginses. 

Would Thorin ever look at him the way he looks at Kili and Fili? 

Bilbo shook himself from his thoughts, reaching up to pat at his cheeks and desist of his rather depressing thoughts. Getting ready to follow the Durin’s, he completely failed to notice the large dark figures come to stand behind him. 

“Grab him.”

He didn’t even get a glance over his shoulder before he was grappled around the middle, a large and thick arm weaseling around his stomach. He was pulled up off his feet and into a large chest, another hand coming up to clamp over his mouth. 

It took him a moment to fully gather himself from the shock, but it was of natural instinct to start kicking and thrashing against the foreign arms. Fear surged through his body as the arm tightened around his middle, squeezing the air from his lungs. They were moving, through the crowd and over the cobblestone. 

His kicks were of little effort, for his feet barely reached the man’s knees, and were of little use. There were others beside them, pushing townspeople out of the way roughly, making room for the man. His hand smelt of something rancid, making Bilbo’s stomach churn. His had swam, his breath came short, and he felt tears unconsciously start to pool in his eyes. 

Glancing up hurriedly, his heart nearly stopped when he saw Thorin and the brothers. They hadn’t noticed, they were still standing, peering into a shop with little care. They were so close, his heart yearning for them to just turn around, to just find him and...

With a surge of unimaginable stupidity, Bilbo opened his mouth and pushed forward, grasping the man’s two middle fingers between his teeth. With a force that could have only been produced by a Took, he closed his jaw, immediately feeling the sting of copper against his tongue. The man howled, wrenching his hand away from the Hobbit. 

The arm tightened around his stomach, the air escaped even more from his lungs, but it didn’t stop him, “THORIN!” 

The world slowed around them, all the crowd around them stilling either at the man’s pained yell, or Bilbo’s loud exclamation. His heart clutched in his chest when Thorin whipped around, his eyes wide at the scream of his name. Their eyes met instantly, the urgency and fear in Bilbo’s eyes traveling through them and to Thorin. 

“Shut up, you halfling!” He was clutched even harder, but the man’s hand didn’t return to his mouth, instead wrapping his forearm tight around Bilbo’s neck. 

“Bilbo!” Thorin, on the other hand, had never felt before such a surge of shock, anger, and fear. The blood ran cold in his chest when he heard Bilbo’s cry; but when he’d turned to see those eyes full of tears, those foreign arms holding the Hobbit tight enough to bruise... all he saw was red. 

Surging forward in the crowd, Thorin desperately tried to push himself through the people. The image of Bilbo struggling and shoving against his captor would forever be burned into Thorin’s memory, along with the cries and calls of his name. Fili and Kili were at his sides, trying just as hard to get through the thick crowd. It seemed that everyone was in their way, slowing them down more and more. 

“Bilbo!” 

Thorin’s breath nearly stopped as he watched the Hobbit’s captor scoff, before wrenching Bilbo around and sending a harsh punch to his stomach. Thorin could hear the gasp of pain even from his position. 

Bilbo’s hazy eyes met his once more, his lips breathed his name, and he slumped forward. 

“Bilbo!” Thorin howled, throwing people bodily out of the way, ignoring the indignant cries of distress. All he could focus on was the slowly fading form of the people holding his Hobbit, drawing him further and further away. 

It was when they were completely out of sight that Thorin felt his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. His breath was coming in large puffs of mist in front of his face, his eyes wide and frantic as he fruitlessly searched the crowd. No one spared the dwarf a look, spare the few that glared at his rude behavior. 

“Bilbo!” 

His throat was closing, his hands clenched hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He wanted nothing more than to tear this town apart, piece by piece and brick by brick to find his little Hobbit, and make sure whoever touched Bilbo would get tenfold back. 

He moved to surge into the crowd again, not caring where he was going as long as it was in the direction they’d just taken his halfling, when he felt a rough hand on his shoulder. 

“Uncle, we...” Fili’s face was rough, his brows knitted together as he fought to catch his breath, his own emotions on overdrive after seeing their hobbit torn and hurt so, “We have to go get the others. We can’t find Bilbo by ourselves.” 

“But Fili...” Kili was the one to try and argue against him, his eyes wide and frantic as he shifted over the ground, his own feet itching to dart after the kidnappers, “They have Bilbo! We have to go after them!” 

Fili’s frown grew as his gaze turned toward the ground, his own hands balling into fists. 

There was a scuffle behind them, a few of the people in the crowd scoffing and shouting at something. When the Durin’s turned around, they came to the view of the rest of their party shoving their way to them, their faces set and grim. They’d heard the chilling shout of Thorin’s name by Bilbo, they had instantly known something was wrong, but they could do nothing about it. They were yards away, but they’d still felt their bones go cold when they heard that shout. 

“Where’s Bilbo?” Bofur spoke up quickly, striding forward and taking one of Thorin’s shoulders in his hand, “What happened?” 

“He was taken.” Thorin answered smoothly, still able to muster up some composure in front of his group, but on the inside, his stomach was twisting and his mind was running a mile a minute, replaying that image of Bilbo struggling, calling out for him. 

Thorin took a deep and shuddering breath, allowing his eyes to shut for a mere moment, “I do not know by who, nor what their motives are.” 

The group was silent. Never before had Thorin heard these men so quiet, the eerie silence circling around them and building. 

“Taken?” Dwalin, surprisingly, was the one to speak up, his gruff voice even deeper than usual. 

“Men.” Fili answered before Thorin could even draw breath, the blonde’s voice taught, “He was taken by three human men.” 

 

 -------

 

“That’s them.” 

The older woman sidled up beside the three large men lounging on the side of the road. Their expressions tightened as they locked their gaze on the small Hobbit, lips curling into evil smirks. 

The woman, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back a small sigh of guilt. That poor hobbit. She had just touched his cheeks and checked his ears, glancing every once in a while towards his feet to make sure that he _was_ a Hobbit. It was a rather simple thing to put together, that he was the hobbit they were looking for, when the two dwarven brothers sidled beside him and started going along with his teasing. 

She was tossed a large bag, about the size of her hand, the contents twinkling and chattering. Her guilt was immediately forgotten as she quickly faded into the crowd once more. 

“Do we know which of them is Thorin Oakenshield?” One of the men spoke low to the others, though they were well hid against the darkness of the night. 

He got no response, all three pairs of eyes watching the small Halfling and his interactions with the Dwarves. The two younger ones were prodding and laughing with the Hobbit, but soon a third came up and shooed the others away. They weren’t positive which of the group was Thorin, wether he was one of the three around the Hobbit or one of the group that had went on ahead. 

“We need the key.” The same man spoke, his lips curling into a smirk as he kept his eyes trained on the small creature, the curly head of hair sticking out like a sore thumb in the dark sea of bodies, “We also need that Hobbit.” 

The other’s agreed, one of the shorter ones glancing up with nary a hint of guilt at the prospect of what they were about to do, “The others are scouting an area we can lead them to. We also have some on the edge of town just in case they decide to leave.” 

“They won’t leave. Not when we have what is most precious to them.” The man laughed, a guttural and throaty sound that even had his companions flinching. They watched for a few more moments in anticipation, their fingers itching to start on their plan. They wanted nothing more than to have that Hobbit in their grasp, but they had to wait, just a few more seconds. 

They smiled simultaneously when they saw the large Dwarf at the Hobbit’s side look up at something, then dip down to say something to him. He was gone from the hobbit’s side, and they all started forward slowly. 

“Get ‘im.” 

The three filtered into the crowd, heading toward that curly head of hair. 

 

\----- 

 

Thorin could have screamed. 

The night was dark, they’d been searching for hours, and the passage of time did nothing for the ache in Thorin’s heart. 

The streets of Lake-town were dead, devoid of any soul spare for the rare drunkard stumbling home in the dead of night. They’d split into pairs, to search for their taken comrade, none of them even beginning to think of heading back to the inn. He’d been beyond proud of his brethren when they’d heard the news of their Hobbit, and immediately started to search, a deep-seeded anger and worry in their hearts. 

Bofur was searching for the close friend he had just started to teach to whittle. 

Bombur was searching for the friend to whom conversed on a daily basis about herbs and food. 

Ori was searching for the friend who wasn’t afraid to admit he liked knitting and leather-bound books.

And Thorin...Thorin was searching for the one who had slowly, very slowly, started to wheedle his way into his heart. He just wished, more than anything, that it hadn’t taken a situation like this for him to realize it. 

“Uncle!” Kili’s voice echoed through the night, urgent and scared. It took Thorin no more than three steps to come to where Fili and Kili were hunched over on the ground, both staring intently at something. Their arms were outstretched, as if scared to even reach towards it, but their eyes were wide.

Thorin knelt down, his eyes widening and his breath catching in his chest when he realized truly what he was looking at. 

It was a simple piece of paper, untouched by the harsh elements around them, looking significantly out of place on the muddy ground. It was folded in half, cleanly, pressed into the ground by a single button. A simple button with the image of an acorn embellished into the metal. 

They all knew painfully well where that button had come from. 

By the time Thorin had enough will power to pick up the letter, the rest of the company had found their way to the Durins, closing in. They were stark still, nearly all of them having seen the glint of the metal, their expressions painful. 

“Uncle...” Kili looked the most outwardly distraught, his hands clutching harshly at the fabric over his stomach, his body almost hunched in on himself. He looked like he was in physical pain at the notion of Bilbo being gone, seeing that button, and the thought that the letter, if that truly was what it was, was about their Hobbit. 

Fili moved quickly to his brother’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing Kili’s head to tuck against his chest. He wanted nothing more than to softly start uttering assurances, but they were all waiting with bated breath to hear what the letter said. 

_“We have the hobbit.”_

Thorin had to pause before reading those words aloud, having seen them the second he opened the letter. Each word was like a punch to the gut, his vision hazy from pure rage and unbridled worry and agony. 

He gathered himself, closing his eyes for a second and imagining Bilbo, smiling and kind, warm against his side. 

“ _We have the hobbit._

_Come to the edge of the forest just outside Lake Town._

_If you want to find the hobbit alive, you’ll leave all weapons.”_

It wasn’t finished, but Thorin choked at the last words, his voice breaking despite the desperate need to remain strong for the group. His hand shook, his vision was hazy, and his stomach clenched tight enough to make bile rise in his throat. 

_“We start on his fingers next.”_

A broken cry escaped the youngest Durin brother, his face digging further into his brother’s chest. 

It was then that Thorin’s mind decided to go blank. When had the Hobbit become so precious to him? He didn’t know the answer, all he knew was that he had never felt such rage, such pure fury. His hands were shaking with it. 

Now was not the time for them to be silent, yet all of them seemed to be shocked to immobility at the words. The severity of the situation seemed to sink into every one of them, realization that Bilbo was in serious danger stronger than ever before. They were supposed to be there to protect him, shield him from any harm. 

“ _Well!?”_ Bofur’s voice shocked them all, the usually cheery and happy Dwarf sounding as if he could tear something apart with his bare hands, “ _What are we waiting for!?”_

 

\--------

 

Bilbo coughed as he finally came to consciousness, his mind a throbbing mass of pain, his body even more so. He couldn’t gather anything, could barely remember his name, none the less where he was and why. His senses came back to him slowly, but he couldn’t bring himself to remember what exactly was happening. 

He could smell the dirt, the air, the trees around him. His feet weren’t on the ground, there was no pressure on the pads of his feet. There was a considerable pressure on his midsection, though, something he wasn’t used to. Every once in a while, a sharp jostle would burn through his body, and a sting would shoot down his spine. 

Feeling something trickling up his lips and over the bridge of his nose, sliding up and over his forehead, he realized that he was upside down. Licking his lips to taste whatever it was, the realization that it was blood finally kicked his mind into full gear. 

Opening his eyes slowly with a painful groan, Bilbo tried to struggle. He saw the span of a man’s back in front of his eyes, and reasoned that he was flung over a shoulder. His hands were tied painfully behind his back, as were his ankles. Kicking his knees in a sluggish attempt at a struggle, Bilbo was rewarded with a harsh jostle that sent his mind swimming. 

“The Hobbit’s wound is bleeding.” 

Bilbo cursed as he tried to remember what exactly had happened. He remembered being in the marketplace of Lake Town, Thorin’s arm was warm around him, he had been so happy...everything was so fuzzy after that. 

Their voices blurred together and he couldn’t tell who was saying what.

“Well, if you hadn’t have made it so _deep,_ then we wouldn’t be having this problem.” 

“Turi said a warning cut, to let them know we’re serious, but he didn’t say how _deep._ ”

“Quiet, we’re just about to the meeting point. We want him nice and awake to meet his friends.” 

“Considering they come.” 

“Oh, they’ll come.” 

Bilbo desperately hoped they didn’t. Not only was he in a rather pathetic state that he wouldn’t hope the other’s would see him in, but this was obviously a trap, a ploy, a ruse to get the others to come rescue him. Wether it be to gather them all in one place to kill them or something else, Bilbo wished the others would forget about him and see the danger as what it was, and get to the Lonely Mountain. 

It slowly came back to him, in bits and pieces, the crowd, the stalls, the arm around his midsection. He remembered the punch, too, he thought bitterly. He gave a particularly hard squirm at that, aiming his knees towards the man’s chest. 

“Calm down, halfling.” The gruff voice of the man holding him didn’t sound discouraged at all, happy even, “We’re almost there yet. You’re gonna be nice and pretty for all your friends.” 

Struggling again, Bilbo wasn’t about to listen to them. With clenched teeth, he found as hard as he could against the arm on his legs, he locked his knees together and desperately tried to knock them against _something._ Why did humans have to be so big anyways? 

“He _said, shut up!”_

Bilbo had never been punched before, not truly. He’d been in battles against orcs, outwitted trolls, even stabbed a warg, but he could honestly say that he’d never been punched before. 

It hurt. 

Mind reeling as he stuttered for breath, Bilbo stilled after the fist made impact. The man hadn’t been holding back, either, as he felt more blood from his split lip and probably loose teeth join the trail that was already making it’s way up his forehead. He didn’t want to think about what had caused the first trail of blood. 

Bilbo, through the haze of pain, could hear the faint sounds of others through the trees. He didn’t know how many were in this group that had managed to capture him irritatingly easily,  but so far he could only count three. Three big men, burlier than any men he’d seen, and the one who held him was even taller than Gandalf. 

So that could only mean that the sounds were either more men, or his own company. He didn’t know which he preferred. He didn’t want any more reason for the dwarves to think he was weak and useless, and allowing himself to be kidnapped and roughed up? This was just pathetic. 

“There they are.” The one holding him murmured, pausing and holding out his hand to get his men to do the same, “Illunir, circle round back of them.” 

There was nary a nod before the one that punched him drifted into the darkness of the trees. Bilbo managed to open his eyes a bit wider, seeing now a small flickering light of a flame. The third man was holding an armful of wood, as well as a torch. 

“Halt there, dwarves.” 

Bilbo struggled again, trying to glance around to see his friends. Despite his desire for them to simply turn around and run, he was still pleased to see them. He also wouldn’t deny that the fact they _did_ come made a warmth curl in his chest. 

He was jostled again, this time as he was unceremoniously dropped from the shoulder into the arm, then placed on his feet. A rough hand turned him around so he was facing the same direction as his captor, a tight hand on the back of his neck to keep him standing. He was a bit grateful, seeing as with his feet tied, he probably would have made a nice meeting with the ground. 

“Where is Bilbo!?” 

Bilbo smiled softly at Kili’s voice. Kili _was_ always the first one to yell out on impulse, screaming for him when all the others chose to stay quiet. He could imagine Kili fighting to move forward, but either Fili or Thorin, or both, holding him back. 

The man laughed, almost too amused at the dwarves obvious worry, “We have your Hobbit.” 

There was an uncomfortable shuffle from Bilbo’s companions, and he strained his eyes just to try and see the other’s through the darkness. It was so dark and bleak, but he could barely make out the outline of a blank area in the middle of the trees. A small clearing, but his friends were on the other side. 

“Go.” The leader spoke to the man holding the wood, and almost before he spoke, the other started forward. He stepped into the clearing with only the confidence of a man with a hostage could have, dropping his armful of wood in the middle, before alighting it with his torch. 

Backing away from the flame, the man turned toward where the dwarves were still hidden among the trees, “Step out, now.” 

Thorin was first, and Bilbo could have cried with happiness. He and the man were still within the darkness of the trees, hidden rather well, but he could see the others as they filtered into the clearing. They followed exactly as the man said, all coming out into the lit clearing and standing at the far end. They were all morose, all dead serious, and all pissed off. 

And this was the absolute _worst_ time to feel happy, but Bilbo couldn’t help it. 

“Where. Is. Bilbo.” This time it was Fili, his gaze on fire as he stepped in front of his brother, positively radiating anger. 

Thorin had yet to say anything, but he stood like a majestic beacon of fury. Bilbo had never seen him look so angry, a quiet and dark entity of pure power. That alone made Bilbo’s happiness curl even tighter in his stomach. Thorin was that angry and concerned over _him._ A _Hobbit._

Bilbo could have giggled if it wouldn’t have been slightly insane and would have probably hurt. 

“Search them, Illunir.” 

The man stepped out from behind the dwarves, shuffling forward with a hunch to his shoulders and a sneer to his lips. He towered over even Thorin by at least two feet, and looked as though he found the entire situation rather dull. He proceeded to prod and poke at them, searching for weapons, but doing it rather hap-hazardly. He completely bypassed the throwing knives in Fili’s boot, but made sure to glance unamusedly at Ori’s knitting needles before tossing them over his shoulder. 

“Clean, Turi.” He announced, stepping back away from them and reaching deep into the small pack tied around his waste, pulling out a large twirl of rope. It took him a good few minutes, and not without the temperament and jostles from the dwarves, made them sit. He was quick with tying each other feet together, as well as their hands behind their backs. 

Bilbo could immediately tell that they were intimidated by the dwarves, by their severe measures to take them off their feet and disarm them. He was displeased when the happiness in his chest was replaced with guilt. To see all his friends tied like livestock on the ground made him want to curl into a hole, seeing as it was entirely his fault.

“Lorodin, watch them.” 

The man who had set up the fire stood on the other far end of the dwarves, opposite Illunir. They were taking no precautions, Lorodin even going so far as to take a knife from his waste and flip it around in his fingers, watching the dwarves like a hawk. 

These men were really _scared_ of the Durin company. It would have been amusing to watch, if Bilbo hadn’t felt so guilty. 

“So, the great line of Durin.” The man, whom Bilbo assumed was Turi, started forward, pushing Bilbo by the back of his neck. Bilbo had to awkwardly shuffle, his ankles tied together only loosely enough to allow him an inch to step. He gasped, dipping his head in shame as they finally came into the light, wondering what kind of sight he made to the others. 

“Bilbo...” 

He gulped and glanced up, if only for the fact it had been Bofur’s usually so cheerful voice that uttered his name so brokenly. He tried to smile, but the dried blood on his lips made the reality of the situation sink in once more. It was bittersweet to see his friends, but now they were in a load of trouble, and he was in a lot of pain. 

Turi laughed at their shocked faces, before walking them forward a bit more, standing beside the fire and a few feet away from the dwarves. Feeling the grip loosen on his neck, Bilbo gasped as he was pushed forward. With no legs to balance himself on, no arms to catch himself, Bilbo knew what was going to happen. Oh, this would hurt as much as the punch. 

And it did. 

Face sliding against the ground, rocks and dirt digging into his cheek and forehead, Bilbo’s head twisted awkwardly to the side as he landed fully on his face and body. He didn’t even bounce to absorb the shock, he merely slid forward and took the whole impact on his body. He could only groan and cough as the air was violently forced from his lungs. 

“Ow.” Bilbo groaned, shifting around to take the weight off his injured cheek, he glanced up at the others, finding himself a mere three feet from them. So close, yet so far, as he could literally do nothing to reach them. 

Thorin sat at the front of them, looking so majestic and regal, despite the fact his legs were awkwardly jutting out in front of him and rope was tied from his ankles to his knees. Kili and Fili sat on his left, both of them leaning forward, worried and frantic as they struggled against their bindings. Their eyes didn’t leave Bilbo as they did, both of them whispering condolences, trying to smile in comfort, but failing terribly. Bilbo couldn’t hold back his own sad smile at them, trying to comfort them. Bofur and Dwalin sat at Thorin’s right, both visible to Bilbo, both looking murderous. Their eyes would flick to Bilbo and fill with rage, before turning back to one of the three captors. He couldn’t see the rest of the group, but imagined that their reactions were similar. 

“Alright.” Turi sauntered so he stood next to Bilbo, raising his foot and planting it on the Hobbit’s back, just above his tied hands, “Now that everyone is here, let’s get this party started.” 

Well, the Dwarves definitely didn’t like _that_ turn of phrase. Their glares intensified, and Bilbo couldn’t hold back the roll of his eyes. 

“See, we took this Hobbit, because we’ve been following you dwarves for quite some time now.” He stepped harder on Bilbo’s back, smirking in delight when the Hobbit cried out softly, “We’ve heard stories and myths of the opening of Erebor.” 

Thorin felt his body go still, torn between his worry for Bilbo and his worry for his home. What interest did this man have in Erebor? 

“The time to reclaim Erebor is now, isn’t it?” He laughed, shrugging as he swept his gaze over the glares he was receiving, “We thought we’d try our hand at it, see if we couldn’t get the gold ourselves. We stumbled upon your group, heard stories of you, as well.” 

Trying to figure out how on earth these men would hear of Thorin and his company, as well as the reclaiming of Erebor left Bilbo dizzy. On the other hand, if the orcs could figure out where they were, then so could a renegade group of men. Thorin’s words echoed in all of their minds, the fact that they were most likely not the only ones that had read the signs of Erebor being ready to be reclaimed. 

“So we found your little group, followed you for a while. We almost lost you for a while there, when you were captured by the wood elves. It was by pure luck we saw your little Hobbit in Lake Town.” Sneered down at Bilbo, Turi amusedly dug his heel into the Hobbit’s shoulder blades, “Should really keep a tighter leash on him.” 

Bilbo sent a glare over his shoulder, but it was short lived as he clenched his teeth at the sudden onslaught of pain. They must’ve done _something_ to him while he was unconscious, seeing as just a foot on his back shouldn’t cause this much pain. He scoffed, remembering the blood running down his face when he’d first gained consciousness. The pain in his chest did resemble a open wound rubbing against the ground. 

“Bilbo...” Kili ground out, his glare towards the man fading as he centered his gaze on Bilbo. If he kept staring at the man any longer, he’d do something stupid and brash, so he chose to keep his focus on the halfling. He caught Bilbo’s eyes and tried so hard to smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. 

“But -- this brings us to our real motives.” The leader laughed, waving his hands around and shrugging, gesturing towards them all, “We need to know which of you is Thorin Oakenshield.” 

There was yet another still silence, none of them speaking. It was one thing to allow their Hobbit to be taken, but none of them were going to utter a word about their King. 

“See, we weren’t able to get close enough to you guys to figure out exactly _which_ was Thorin Oakenshield, holder of the key. We need that key.”

_They knew about the key._

Thorin’s eyes burned into the man, wishing above all else that he could tear his hands from the binding, wring the man’s neck, then sweep Bilbo into his arms. Seeing Bilbo in such a state, seeing Bilbo’s blood, confirmed any doubts he had about his feelings for the Hobbit. It felt as though someone was jabbing his heart with a hot poker, and simultaneously threading his mind with the purest form of anger. No one would be safe from his wrath. At least until he had Bilbo in his arms, and preferably behind a locked door, with a weapon of some kind. 

“So, it would be in your best interest to give us that key.” 

“Don’t.” 

Bilbo kicked himself the second the word came out of his mouth. Of _course_ the Dwarves weren’t going to just hand over the key. How stupid was he? The word was just out before he could stop himself, in the surge of panic at the man’s words 

“I wasn’t asking you.” Turi lowered his glare to Bilbo, hiking up his leg and letting it slam on Bilbo’s back. Bilbo cried out despite his attempts to stop it, his eyes closing as he fought the wave of pain. His glee back with full force, the man tilted his head, “Now, _shut up._ ”

There was a range of mixed emotions within the group, but they were all within the boundaries of concern and anger. Most a mixture of both. 

Bilbo had slowly become a part of their group, part of their family. He’d wheedled his way into each other hearts, in only a way a burglar Hobbit could. With every smile, every act of kindness, every show of acceptance, he snuck and burrowed his way into their lives. At the beginning of their journey, they had no intention of even _liking_ the Hobbit, none the less accepting him as part of their _family._

But that’s what he was. 

Be it from the way he allowed the Durin brothers to braid his hair every other night, or how he would converse with Dori about cheeses and wines. He was too gentle, too sweet, and that had immediately struck something protective in them. They should have seen it coming, how months into their journey, they’d grow to have a fierce protective streak over Bilbo. He was just so _tiny,_ and held his sword like a child holding a fish, away from his body with fear. 

So, right now, they were all _furious._

Tilting his head and leaning forward, Turi rose his brows in a fake show of surprise, “No one jumping to tell me?” 

He shrugged, before stepping off Bilbo. The Hobbit had barely a moment to sigh in relief at the loss of pressure on his back, before there was the toe of a boot digging into his sternum. Turi reared his leg back once more and landed another brutal kick to Bilbo’s stomach, feeling the halfling shift on the dirt. He didn’t stop, going so far as to push the Hobbit onto his back with his boot, stomping down on his hip and abdomen, once, twice, before finally pulling his foot back and letting it rest on the dirt. 

Bilbo could only let out a gasping groan, the sound trailing off into a whine of pain. When his ears finally stopped throbbing with the sound of his own blood pounding in his veins, Bilbo could hear the sound of his company yelling and shouting, causing quite an uproar. They were shouting threats, warnings, and various curses. It was enough to make a lass blush, their curses, but they did nothing but make him smile. 

If they weren’t tied up, these men would be in pieces. 

When Bilbo glanced up at Turi, he was surprised to catch an edge of irritation in the man’s gaze as he stared at them all. His lips twitched down, and his hands were twitching. He was beginning to lose his patience, and that was exactly what Bilbo was looking for. 

“Silence!” He roared, bringing his foot back up and pressing it against the back of Bilbo’s head, shoving the halfling’s face into the dirt, “You _will_ give me the key!” 

“How pathetic is that?” Bofur’s voice was strong and resilient, but all those close to him could instantly detect the hint of urgent concern, “You’re been following us for how long? You don’t even know which of us is Thorin!”

Bilbo couldn’t have been prouder. It seemed as though the dwarves had learned _something_ from Bilbo on their trip, and that was: if in doubt, stall it out. The one way to get a situation to turn in your favor was to get the enemy distracted and stall them. 

“You call yourselves bandits?” Nori took his turn, grinning triumphantly as he leaned forward. A deep laugh broke through his tension, “I’ve seen better bandits in the lands of _fairies.”_

“Boss....” Illunir looked nervous, shifting from foot to foot as he pondered heading to his leader, “Is this...” 

“Shut up!” Turi stepped away from the Hobbit, shuffling around on the ground hastily, before grunting and turning to the others, “Illunir, Lorodin, c’mere.” 

With that, they all three scuttled away into the corners of the clearing, dipping their heads to have a heated conversation. About what, Bilbo couldn’t even begin to imagine, but he couldn’t have cared less. Instead, he turned his head up and sent a beaming smile towards them. 

He was met with their concerned gazes, none of them returning his smile, their eyes wide as they fought to lean forward. None of them dared so speak, in fear that they’d grab their captor’s attention once more, but their full attention at the moment was on their small Hobbit. 

With a groan, Bilbo shuffled around so he flopped on his stomach, catching his breath and wincing at the scrape of his bruises and wounds against the dirt. Coughing just a bit, he shuffled forward, acting embarrassingly like a worm as he inched forward, toward his group. 

“ _Bilbo._ ” Thorin leaned down as much as he could, his hair pooling around them as Bilbo stopped by his outstretched knee. He could see the bruises starting to form over the halfling’s brow and cheeks, as well as the back of his neck. The blood that had dribbled down Bilbo’s face was dry, but  heart wrenching on that pale skin. Eyes searching each other, Thorin huffed to hold back his slew of emotions, “Are you okay?” 

“You’re asking me that?” Bilbo laughed just a bit as he turned his face back towards the ground, before nodding slowly and resting his cheek against Thorin’s knee. The cool fabric felt beautiful against his overheated cheek, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl up and collapse against Thorin, but he knew he couldn’t. 

Instead, he shifted around, moving towards the youngest of the Durins. The crawling was slow, his movements were painful, but eventually he made it to the outstretched feet of Fili. Kili sat a bit more forward than his brother, so when Bilbo made it to Fili’s boots, he was near Kili’s thigh. The youngest nephew was a sight more flexible than his uncle, so when he decided to hunch over and lean towards Bilbo, he actually managed to press his forehead against the side of Bilbo’s. 

Craning his head to the side, Bilbo smiled softly as he felt the warmth radiate off Kili, “Hey, it’s okay. I have an idea.” 

Kili nodded. 

Turning back toward Fili’s boot, Bilbo sent a encouraging smile toward Fili, who had a positively pathetic look on his face. Having just witnessed his brother’s show of compassion, along with his own anguish at Bilbo’s plight, he was having a hard time keeping the expressions from showing on his face. He smiled back, though, when he caught Bilbo’s eyes, his brows shakily drawing together. 

Now, how as Bilbo going to do this? He didn’t know how much time he had before the humans realized their little prisoner wasn’t exactly where he should be, but upon further inspection, he saw that their discussion was still heated. His full attention now on Fili’s boot, he merely did what seemed to be the only plan, and dug his face into the fur. 

He could hear Fili give a conflicted laugh, because this was _definitely_ not the time to be laughing, but Bilbo did just dig his face into his boot.

Bilbo felt along with his teeth, almost instantly feeling the hard metal tip on the handle of one of Fili’s throwing knives. The blonde had a tendency to hide his knives deep in the fur at the top of his boot, to ensure that they were hidden. Hidden enough that these guys didn’t even _think_ of looking for them. 

Hooking his teeth over the metal tip, Bilbo pulled desperately. Shifting so he could clamp his teeth around the handle, he shifted up and pulled with his neck. Craning around to effectively pull the knife from Fili’s boot, he caught the blonde’s gasp of recognition, before an almost breathless admission of, _“Bilbo, you are a genius!”_

Shifting around with the knife between his teeth, he caught the looks of the ones behind Kili and Fili, all of them grinning triumphantly as they saw their little burglar holding the knife in his teeth. Shifting back down, he glanced up and saw Kili’s blinding smile, his eyes alight with hope. 

But all too soon, those eyes turned to horror. 

“You sneaky little _bastard!”_

Grabbing the rope tying the Hobbit’s feet together, Turi pulled Bilbo across the ground and away from his companions. He pulled him up and off the ground, letting him dangle upside down once again. 

Turi laughed, reaching down to wrench the dagger from between Bilbo’s jaws, looking at it with amusement, “You are a tricky little thing, aren’t you?” 

Tossing the dagger in one hand, Turi didn’t miss the group’s eyes flickering from the knife to their Hobbit. Laughing again, he looked at all of them, never relinquishing his hold on the knife nor Bilbo, “Sorry about my little outburst. We can get back to negotiations now.” 

With that, he flipped the dagger in his hand and swiftly brought it to the base of Bilbo’s shirt, just where it tucked into his pants. He pressed, very slowly, the tip just barely breaking through the fabric of Bilbo’s shirt. Wincing and closing his eyes with a deep breath, Bilbo felt the tip of the dagger poke his stomach, as well as a sweltering fear start to form in his gut. 

“You see, I don’t quite like the answers I’m getting.” Turi sighed, adding more pressure to the dagger, so much that a drop of red started to seep through Bilbo’s shirt, “So here’s what we’re gonna do.” 

Bilbo huffed, clenching his teeth and sending the man a particularly scathing glare. 

“You’re going to tell me where the key is.” He tilted his head to the side, dragging the knife down and effortlessly cutting the shirt as well as Bilbo’s skin up his stomach, “And I won’t _gut_ him.” 

The dagger dug deeper into his stomach, dragging down towards his chin, leaving a trail of blood. The blade faltered when it hit the wound dragging across Bilbo’s chest, the one that had initially caused the blood on his face. He still didn’t remember what caused it,  but all he knew was it hurt. Fresh blood added to the amount already dried on his face, making him blink and clench his teeth tighter to keep in any sound. He desperately didn’t want to show weakness, but his whole stomach was throbbing. 

His shirt flew open as the final threads were cut, falling up with his jacket and pooling around his arms. His torso felt cold and hot all at the same time, the wound throbbing and spiking like a thousand needles. 

“Now, I’m going to count to three.” He brought the knife back up to Bilbo’s stomach, dragging it lightly around the bare flesh, raising goosebumps. 

“One.” 

Bilbo’s eyes searched the company, seeing their scared eyes as they watched the scene unfold. They couldn’t do anything, not with their hands and legs tied so tight they couldn’t even get to their feet, none the less attack. They were afraid that, even if they could get up, that if they did the blade in the man’s hand would make butter of the Hobbit’s stomach. It was too precarious, and they were stuck. 

“Two.” 

Thorin looked the most distraught, and it was he that Bilbo found the most comfort. Their eyes met and Bilbo tried to offer him a smile, but he didn’t know how well he’d pulled it off. Thorin’s eyes were blazing, but the second they met Bilbo’s, they crumbled. His eyes filled with sorrow and regret, undeniable concern, and something even deeper that Bilbo couldn’t even begin to describe. Anything and everything was in that look, all focusing on him with those intensely beautiful blue eyes. 

Just as Turi went to speak, Bilbo saw a flicker of something metal out of the corner of his eye. 

“Three.” 

The dagger barely had time to press once more against his stomach before there was an animalistic shout from just to Thorin’s right, Kili drawing the attention at the last second. His hands flew forward, freed from their bindings, and in a quick slash only he could produce, he had his and Fili’s feet cut free, as well as Thorin’s hands. The humans had barely a chance to think before Kili had freed all around him, and the dwarves were on the offense. 

Bilbo cried out as he dropped harshly to the ground, Turi having completely forgone his original plan in leu of escaping the dwarves. They were horrendously outnumbered. That would have been enough, but they had managed to severely piss them all off, so their forces were doubled.

Groaning and pinching his eyes closed, Bilbo focused on breathing for the time being, applauding the brothers at their escape. Of course the human’s couldn’t have realized that Fili always kept _two_ throwing knives in each boot. Kili had been smart enough to try for the second while they’d been distracted. He’d could have hugged the youngest Durin, if not for the fact his hands were still tied tightly behind his back. 

He felt a gentle hand touch his fingers, and quickly the ropes wrapped around his wrists were cut, letting his arms flop to his sides. Another hand quickly rolled him over onto his back, making him groan at the shift. He opened his eyes slowly, breathing deeply. He couldn’t help but smile as he saw the entire group crowded around him, their faces pinched in worry and relief. Fili and Kili were tight to his side, both of them hovering about, as if they weren’t sure it was safe to touch him. 

“Kili.” Bilbo smiled wide, watching the boy almost crumble, “That was really smart, I’m proud of you.” 

At those words, Kili did crumble, falling into his brothers side and letting out a shaky breath. His smile was watery, his hands were still shaking, but he looked so relieved. 

Turning his gaze back up, Bilbo saw Thorin on his other side, leaning even closer, a large hand gently tracing Bilbo’s side. Feeling something foreign punch in his gut, Bilbo gazed up at Thorin. The man’s eyes were solemn, but his brows were knitted together with emotion. He looked conflicted as he hovered about Bilbo, his breathing deep and restrained. 

“Bilbo...” Thorin began, gulping and desperately trying to fight the swell of tears in his eyes, “ _Bilbo...”_

“I...I was so afraid.” Bilbo started, the punch in his gut once more as his own tears swelled, unabashedly trailing down his cheeks. His hands shook as he reached to take the front of Thorin’s tunic in his fists, trying to bring himself up, or let Thorin know to come down, “I was so _afraid,_ but...I...I looked in your eyes and it took all my fear away.” 

Thorin surged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Bilbo and pulling him into his arms. He tried to curl himself as far around his small Hobbit as he could, holding him so tight. Residual fear still lingered in his chest, but the more he held Bilbo, the more he could breathe. 

Bilbo, on the other hand, felt the feeling in his gut surge as Thorin pulled him close. Tears flew from his eyes and he burrowed into the king, his hitching breaths and cries just barely audible. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Thorin murmured as he gentle carded a hand through Bilbo’s curls, cradling the Hobbit as he would a precious treasure. He continued to murmur and whisper, even as the cries quieted, gently sifting his fingers gently over Bilbo’s cheek and neck. 

 

\------- 

 

 

When Bilbo woke up to the sound of a door closing, he couldn’t even remember having fallen asleep. The last thing he remembered was Thorin’s tight arms around him, the King’s warmth offering such a comfort that Bilbo yearned for it even now. He remembered the knife, he remembered the pain...

Gasping as he opened his eyes slowly, he tried to put those thoughts from his mind, choosing to focus on more important things now. Like finding Thorin. He felt almost empty, and knew that until he was in Thorin’s arms again, the feeling was going to continue. 

But lo and behold, Thorin was presented to him. 

“Bilbo.” Thorin quickly made his way to the edge of the bed that Bilbo laid in, having just entered the room with as much care as he could. He was slightly disappointed to see his efforts were in vain, as Bilbo was awake and yawning, but it was quickly overridden by concern and joy, “How are you feeling?” 

“Sore.” Bilbo groaned, huffing a breath and trying to push himself up in the bed, but finding his arms were like jelly, “Hot and cold at the same time. My stomach is in knots.” 

Thorin smiled fondly, taking a seat carefully on the edge of the bed and pressing a hand to Bilbo’s cheek, “The wound on your chest became infected while you were sleeping. We’ve been fighting it for the last two days.” 

“Two days?” Bilbo gasped, pleased when Thorin reached forward to help him sit up against the headboard. His head swam and his chest surged with pain, but he was glad up be up. 

The king smiled wistfully, trailing his hand over Bilbo’s cheek, “Oin looked after your wounds, but the infection left you unconscious for two days.”

“Oh.” 

Despite how desperately he tried to push them to the back of his mind, the events that had happened those two days ago filtered through Bilbo’s mind. Frowning deeply, he unconsciously leaned into Thorin’s touch, closing his eyes with a sigh. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined something like that could happen. Getting kidnapped? That was unheard of in the Shire. 

“What...” Bilbo gulped, pleased when Thorin shifted closer and brought his other hand to press against his arm, “What happened to those men?” 

Thorin leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the Hobbit’s, sighing deeply, “We wanted to tear them to pieces, but found that you probably wouldn’t have approved.” 

“I could have looked the other way.” Bilbo laughed, feeling Thorin laugh silently with him. 

“We figured you might feel that way, so we roughed them up just a bit.” Thorin smiled softly at Bilbo when the Hobbit laughed, imagining what _just a bit_ could have entailed. Pushing a bit of fallen hair back behind Bilbo’s ear, Thorin softly continued, “We tied them up and brought them to Lake-Town. They’re being dealt with by the town.” 

“That’s very noble of you.” 

Silence fell, and bit by bit, they slid closer together. It was unspoken that they both needed the closeness and comfort of one another, both of them emotionally wrung out. Their breathing was slow and even, their movements slow, hands soft as they sought out each other. Though Bilbo’s face was flushed, Thorin’s hands felt wonderful on his cheeks, and he drug the king that much closer to himself. 

Soon, Bilbo sat perched on Thorin’s thighs, the king leaning back against the headrest and Bilbo leaning on his shoulder. His head remained tucked under Thorin’s as he breathed deeply, taking in the comforting and strong scent of his king. Rubbing one hand on Bilbo’s thigh softly, the other cradling the side of his head, Thorin sighed contentedly, “There is something I must admit.” 

“Hm?” Bilbo was half asleep when Thorin spoke, nuzzling deeper into his neck and huffing out a sigh. 

Thorin chest rumbled in a laugh, a fond smile on his face, “I...” 

Bilbo heard the urgent note in the king’s voice, and slowly pushed himself to look at him. 

“I have never been so scared.” Thorin admitted, looking away and over Bilbo’s shoulder, rather than right at the Hobbit, ashamed to admit weakness even in front of him, “I have never felt so weak, watching you in that man’s grasp.”

“But I’m okay now.” Bilbo whispered, leaning forward to once again let their brows touch, feeling an intense pride at being allowed to hear these words, “I am alright.” 

“Yes, but...I thought I was going to watch you die.” Thorin let his eyes shift closed, bringing himself closer to nuzzle his nose against Bilbo’s, and the Hobbit could practically feel the furrow of worry to his brow, “And I have never been more afraid.” 

They both breathed. Slowly and methodically. Hands pressing against faces, noses brushing, offering small bits of comfort. They were both suffering and loving all at once, allowing these small moments to mend their broken hearts and emotional scars. 

Slowly, Thorin cupped the Hobbit’s cheek, bringing their lips a hair closer. Lips brushed and tingles of nerves spun down their spines. Pressing a bit harder, careful with the situation but also knowing of their desires, Thorin deepened the kiss. Press after press of lips, swipes of tongue, a soft and slow development of a kiss. 

Not something someone would expect from a dwarf, but he found it was the perfect kiss. They drew apart, sharing slow and methodical kisses afterwards. 

It was Thorin that broke the silence, a gentle chuckle, though not off putting to the mood, “The others are extremely worried.” 

Bilbo hummed happily, opening his eyes to search Thorin’s, “Are they alright?”

“Shaken and worried, but stable. Those men can take orc attacks and battles any day, but put our Hobbit in harms way and they turn to mush.” Thorin laughed affectionately, prideful of his company and their connection with Bilbo. He wasn’t alone in his desire to protect the Hobbit, and he was immensely grateful that he had twelve other dwarves to help him in the task. He sighed, “Kili and Fili are particularly frantic.” 

Bilbo smiled softly, distinctly remembering Kili’s battle cry as they fought to save him, “I’ll have to make sure those two are alright.”

Thorin grunted in agreement. After a short moments silence, he broke it again, “I hope you know this means I’m never letting you out of my sight again?” 

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for how sappy it got at the end. I love me some fluff, enough to roll around in.  
> Thank you guys for reading! I felt as though there weren't enough hurt!Bilbo fics out there, so I decided to make one of my own! Hopefully this idea wasn't too far fetched.


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